Kentucky Irish American

Our Baby's Picture.

"What success, dear?"

"None, Aunt Helen. Only the managers of the different departments have been engaged by the firm. Mr. Brown tells us that they are bringing their clerks with them. The season is too far advanced to find employment elsewhere, so two weeks more of my salary is all I can count on."

Amy threw herself dejectedly in a chair and the tears which she had so bravely kept back all day rolled down her cheeks, at first slowly, then faster and faster.

Dot came and laid her head on her sister's knee. Amy took the child upon her lap, and hiding her face in the little one's, wept long and bitterly. Miss Tracy kept on with her work, knowing it was best to let the girl have her cry out undisturbed.

"Two weeks is a good while, dearest," she said, when Amy had grown quiet. "By that time we may see another opening. What is that old saying? 'Never one door shuts but another one opens.'"

"I know, Aunt Helen, but I had so hoped to stay. I earn so little-but that little will be missed."

There was a great stamping of feet outside and a bright-faced boy rushed in.

"Oh, Aunt Helen, I could have earned a quarter if I had only had a shovel; the snow is getting awful deep. There is two dollars and a half for the bread last week and fifty cents for the doughnuts today. Mr. Newby wants a lemon cake and a snow pudding; Mr. Brown wants a coffee cake, a white cake and a dish of baked beans, and Miss Long wants two loaves of whole-wheat bread and a pint of wine jelly. All this beside the regular twenty-five loaves of bread. Now, auntie, ain't I a good business man?"

"Indeed you are, my boy. Amy, dear, don't you catch a glimpse of that other door?"

"How good you are, auntie; but this is all work for your hands. I am young, strong and so willing to work, and I can do so little."

"Supper is ready," said Marie, coming in from the kitchen. "Now, auntie, you'll see how well I can cook. You will never have to get supper again."

"I'm awfully glad you're ready," said Oliver. "I'm hungry as a bear."

"Hungry as a boy, you mean," said Marie.

While the little family is at supper let me say a few words about them. Helen Tracy was still a pretty woman, in spite of her forty years and the lines which sorrow and care had left in the noble face. The children-Amy, 17; Marie, 14; Oliver, 12, and Dorothy, 6-were children of a brother, who was killed three months before Dorothy was born. For two years the widow struggled bravely to keep the little family, then her health failed. She sent for Helen, who lived at the old homestead with her aged grandmother, and asked her to be a mother to her children. Helen promised, and after laying the mother away she took the little ones and went back to the farm.

A few days after her return her grandmother was stricken with paralysis; she lingered a few weeks, but never regained her speech. For a year after her grandmother's death Helen tried to run the farm, which was mortgaged. Then she rented it, moved to the village and did dressmaking. Two years before the writing of this story she went to Chicago, giving the children better educational advantages and finding employment for Amy in one of the large department stores.

Helen did sewing and fine needle-work, besides selling each week what home-made bread, cakes and dainty desserts she could get orders for. The past year they had no tenant for the farm, and Dot had a long and tedious illness. The time for the mortgage had almost expired, and the outlook was enough to discourage a stouter heart than Amy's.

"Oliver, dear," said Miss Tracy, when supper was over, "take this work to Mrs. Wells. She is to pay you five dollars, and be careful, my boy, come home as quick as you can; you know there are so many 'hold-ups' now."

"All right, auntie, but no highwayman would imagine I had five dollars about me."

"I had an order for a shawl today, Amy, and Miss Leonard paid for her dress. That makes up the rent money which is due Monday. Your two weeks' salary will pay next month's rent; this two dollars and a half will buy another sack of flour, and I have the five dollars which Oliver will bring to live on."

"But the mortgage, Aunt Helen, is due in May."

"I know, dear," with a sigh. "I hate to let the old home go, and to that man of all men."

"I had a letter from Dick Price today saying that if I would marry him his father would cancel the mortgage."

"Not for a thousand homes should you do that. Do you know, dear, that I sometimes think Uncle Tom did pay that mortgage, as he promised grandma he would. But why did he not give her the receipt? You know he came to see her when I was with your mother, and told her that he would pay the mortgage and provide for you children. When we came home he was in New York on business and the day he came so hurriedly to tell grandma good-by I had gone to your old home to settle your mother's business. That night he left for Australia."

"How sad for Aunt Alice that he never reached home, and to be buried at sea. Poor Uncle Tom!"

"The stroke of paralysis came before I reached home the next day. Poor grandma. She tried so hard to tell me something. Could it have been more than to keep her picture of our Lady? Yet she seemed perfectly satisfied when I promised to keep it always."

"How she loved that picture, Aunt Helen. I will never forget how careful she was of it those few days you were gone."

"Grandfather gave it to her, dear, before they were married, and, apart from that, the picture itself it is very valuable. The frame is solid gold and there are real amethysts and pearls which form the flowers in the corner. Grandma claimed that it was copied by a great artist from the original picture of Our Lady of Good Counsel at Genazzano. Let us put up our work now, here come the children; no lessons tonight; tomorrow we will be busy enough."

As Marie and Dot came from the kitchen Oliver rushed in, quite out of breath and a trifle pale. "I came near being held up, Aunt Helen. A man asked me for a nickel and when I said I had none he grabbed me by the arm."

"Oh, dear! and what did you do?" said Marie.

"I cut and run," said the boy laughing. "And here is your five dollars, auntie, safe and sound."

And my boy, too, safe and sound," said Miss Tracy, patting his head. Taking Dot in her arms, she drew the big rocker nearer to the fire. "Now, children, what shall it be tonight? Shall I read to you or will you have a fairy story?"

"Let's talk about your ship, Aunt Helen," said Marie, eagerly.

"You are getting too big for fairy stories, Marie," said Amy.

"Your ship isn't a fairy story, is it auntie?"

"No, sweetheart; it is just a myth which Aunt Helen keeps faith in as an antidote to discouragement and discontent. We just borrow our pleasures from the future and call it my ship."

Many were the pleasures for themselves and others planned by the children.

"Amy must have a piano," said Oliver, "and you shall have a black silk dress, Aunt Helen."

"No," said Dot, "a red one, you got enough black dresses."

"I'll have two, darling: a red one and a black one. Yes, Amy shall have her piano and lessons from a professor. Our little student here," laying her hand lovingly on Marie's dark curls, "shall study everything and have her voice cultivated. Oliver shall have a pony-or shall it be a bicycle?"

"A pony-a black pony, with a tail that sweeps the ground," said the boy.

"A black pony it is, then, and Dot shall have a great big doll that walks and talks-"

"And has real, for-sure hair," broke in Dot eagerly.

"Yes, and real, for-sure hair," said Aunt Helen. "Now, let us have devotions and go to bed. We have much to do tomorrow."

Oliver lighted the candles on the little altar. They made a sweet, home-like picture as they sang, "Jesus, Saviour of My Soul," the children's sweet voices mingling with Miss Tracy's rich alto. After prayers they sang the beautiful evening hymn, "As the Dewy Shades of Even."

After the children had retired Aunt Helen sat long before the fire thinking. Would Mr. Price renew the mortgage? If he did, could they raise the interest by May? With a weary sigh she rose, and taking her grandmother's work-box from the wardrobe placed in it the money she had received that day.

Piece by piece she examined the jewelry it contained. Her mother's pearl necklace and set of opals, her father's watch and chain, her grandmother's amethyst pin, some rings that belonged to the children's mother, and her own diamond ring-the one present her handsome lover had given her. "Oh, Ralph! Ralph! if you had only lived!" she cried.

Should she part with these treasures to redeem the farm, or should she give up the struggle and let it go? Which would be better? Raising her eyes to the picture of Our Lady, she breathed a prayer for guidance. "Good mother, tell me what to do." The mild face of Our Lady seemed to inspire her with courage. She put the trinkets away, all unconscious of the gleaming eyes which were watching her through the shutters.

Still thinking of the mortgage, Helen fell asleep. Toward morning she woke with a start--surely there was some one in the next room. Peering cautiously through the half-open door she saw a gaunt, hungry-looking man kneeling before the fire. On the floor beside him was her grandmother's workbox and the picture of Our Lady. He examined the jewelry; the gems gave out little flashes of color as the fire-light touched them.

Before Helen could gather courage to move he had put them all in his pocket and started to unframe the picture.

Helen screamed and sprang toward him. The robber grabbed the picture, and pointing a revolver at her backed toward the open window. Helen's screams had wakened the older children who gathered round her.

With rare presence of mind Oliver ran to the front door and gave that peculiar shrill whistle with which boys of his age delight to startle people. Hearing it the robber dropped the picture and jumped from the window.

In answer to the boy's call two policemen came in, Miss Tracy gave them a description of the burglar and of the stolen jewelry. They searched the room, but nothing else had been disturbed. "I think he is not a professional, miss," said one of the officers; "he was after the money and jewels, and he must have known where to find them."

"The money, though a small sum, was quite a loss to us, but the jewelry is the greater loss; it was very dear to me."

Helen lifted the picture reverently. The gold frame was broken and several of the jewels had been knocked out by the fall. She looked at it sadly. Tomorrow she would see what she could do toward mending it. At breakfast Helen found it hard to meet the children with her usual cheerfulness. With money and jewelry both gone, what were they to do?

The next day Helen set about mending the picture. Though the glass was broken the canvas was uninjured.

"Marie, dear, get me the paste. I think I can replace these jewels. I will have to unframe the picture in order to take out the broken glass."

She deftly removed the back from the picture. Beneath lay two letters. With trembling fingers she opened them. In one was the receipt for the mortgage, duly signed by Richard Price; it had been paid October 7, 1892. The other was a letter from a New York mining company saying that they had reason to believe there was a good vein of coal under the meadow land, and asking that an expert be allowed to examine it with a view to purchasing. Folded in this envelope with a slip of paper on which was written: "My brave Helen, from Uncle Tom," was five thousand dollars.

Helen sat like one dazed. This was what grandma had tried so hard to tell her. Uncle Tom had kept his word.

Now she remembered that the first time she had paid the interest after her grandmother's death Mr. Price had looked surprised, said "she need not have been so prompt; there was no great hurry." He learned then that she did not know that the mortgage had been paid. How hard she had struggled these four years. But now the old home was free and dear Uncle Tom's gift-five thousand dollars!-what comfort for her darlings!

"Here is paste, Aunt Helen," said Marie. Miss Tracy threw her arms around the child and burst into hysterical tears.

"What it is, Auntie? You are nervous from your fright last night. Please don't cry like that."

"I had to cry dear; I could not help it, Marie, our ship has really come in at last. I can hardly wait for Amy to come home."

"Oh, Aunt Helen, a real, for-sure ship?"

"A real, for-sure ship, darling; it was hidden all this time in the back of Our Lady's picture, and if we had not been robbed we would never have known it."

Several days after a detective called.

"We have found the jewelry at a pawn shop, Miss Tracy; you will have to identify it. If we catch the thief, you will prosecute?"

"I think not. You see," a smile lightening her soft, brown eyes, "the question is this-were we really robbed?"

"That was certainly the man's intention when he entered your house, and for the sake of justice I think you should prosecute."

"I hope he has made good his escape," she said gently. "Whatever his intentions were, we are benefited by the deed."

The picture of Our Lady was now doubly dear to Helen and the children. It has been enclosed in another frame and occupies the place of honor in the sitting room of the old homestead.

Helen never looks into the sweet face without thinking of the time she was so near to despair. And she often whispered to the tender heart of Mary: "Dear mother, take under your protection the man who robbed us. Obtain for him the grace to lead a better life, and guide him to the heart of your divine Son." [Lida Coghlan in Baltimore Mirror]